


Why I Love You

by yoursmilemakesmyday



Category: The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Drabbles, M/M, POV Third Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 12:33:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9235430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yoursmilemakesmyday/pseuds/yoursmilemakesmyday
Summary: "When the sun rises, all the dark disappears from the world for awhile. When he smiles, it feels like there was never any darkness at all."Short writings based on Patroclus' and Achilles' time together. All chapters can be read separately and they follow no particular order.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first fic. I welcome *kind* constructive criticism. It is unbetaed and barely proofread by me. I'm trying to post this before I lose the nerve. I tried to merge information from TSOA and the Iliad. Enjoy.

There is little beauty in war and death, especially in a war that has waged as long as this one. You can only watch so many people get speared through the face before you begin to feel numb to all of the pain and blood and destruction. Only so many people can be butchered before you start to wonder if its all worth it.

Achilles does not want to think this war is a lost cause. The fates have promised that this war will bring eternal glory to those who fight in it, especially to him. It is just so difficult to spend all your days killing and fighting to stay alive when you have seen no progress made. The Trojans are no more scared of Menelaus than when they first arrived. Helen still sits comfortable behind the massive castle walls and men still die because she could not remain faithful to her husband.

He hears the men talk at night when they think no one is listening. He hears how they want to run or openly quit fighting. There is talk of killing Agamemnon and Menelaus both in their sleep. Achilles is not against killing Agamemnon, the man has irritated him from the very second he met him, but he would not have it done in his sleep. If Agamemnon is killed my his own men then it will be at the hand of Achilles and they will both be armed.

The restlessness amongst men needs to stop before there is an uprising. They can handle the Trojans, but they cannot handle fighting amongst themselves at the same time. He knows he needs to do something, but he does not know what he can do. To speak out would be to anger Agamemnon. Besides, he does not know what he could say to these men that would not be a lie. 

The war is ending soon? Doubtful, the war will not be close to ending until he kills Hector. He has no intention of doing so.

They are winning? This war is very evenly fought. No ground has been gained or lost in over a month.

The men are fighting well? Even that is a lie. After so many years of fighting everyone is tired. No one is fighting well. No one is even trying anymore. All the cities have been sacked and there are no new women to boost moral. There are no towns to pillage for more treasures to bring home or new food to be obtained.

Even games have failed to amuse the men. They tried races and wrestling but it all quickly lost interest. These men are tired of competing against other men. They want to go home, back to their wives and children.

Achilles hears them whisper about him. They ask why he has not killed the prince yet. They ask why he has not stormed the walls of Troy himself and taken out all fifty of Priam's sons and daughters. End the whole line, they laugh at the thought of killing an entire family. Achilles would laugh at it to if it did not mean you would be separated from Patroclus sooner.

At this point, he could end the war with one kill. With Hector gone the Trojans have nothing. He is part human though, and he is in no hurry to die and receive his eternal glory. He wants to be part mortal a little longer. He wants more nights to hold Patroclus close to him.

Patroclus sees their unease as well. He speaks to Briseis about it and she encourages the slave women to be more welcoming to these Greek soldiers. She talks of trying to find new foods to cook, as if that is what will make these men happy. 

Together, he and Patroclus listen to the men's complaints. Odysseus tries to speak to Agamemnon and he makes an announcement stating that all deserters will be killed if found. There is no glory in leaving your men behind in order to save yourself. He tells them they are cowards for even thinking of leaving.

The men grow angrier.

It's Patroclus who comes up with idea to put on a play for the men. It's not the best play that has ever been performed, but when Achilles watches the way Patroclus laughs at the women and men prancing around on stage, he thinks that it's definitely one of the best things he's seen since being in Troy. The smile that doesn't leave Patroclus' face is the best thing this war has given them since it started. He looks beautiful in the dim light of the fires that light the stage.

When the play ends, well into the night, they all call Patroclus and Briseis on stage to take a bow. Everyone is drunk on wine and the moonlight. Achilles watches as Patroclus puts his arm around Briseis and laughs at something one of the other soldiers say to him. He doesn't feel jealous to watch Patroclus being the center of attention or to watch Briseis lean a little bit closer to him. Achilles feels nothing but happiness as he looks on at his beloved.

Their eyes meet across a mass of bodies and Achilles feels his whole body warm at the feeling of having those dark eyes on him.

It takes awhile for the men to disperse and start heading back to their tents for the night. There is a war to fight tomorrow and they can't spend all night drinking and laughing even if they want to. Achilles is glad for that, too. He's wanted to get Patroclus alone all day.

"Achilles," he says the name with a smile. His big hands grip the strong muscles of Achilles arms and squeeze. It's the most basic form of affection but it does wonders for them, making them feel closer and grounded. "Look at the men, look how happy they are. I think this helped." 

He does not care for the men though, only for the person in front of him. "Come, Patroclus, I have a surprise for you."

The two make their way back to the camp at the edge of the beach but do not stop at their tent. They continue onward until beach becomes grass and then becomes sand again. Achilles finds the blankets he had brought earlier that day and laid out for tonight. He's been planning this for awhile now, wanting to do something special for Patroclus.

"It is your birthday, today." Achilles tells him as he stands at the edge of the blanket. "My gift to you is that of solitude. Just the two of us for the rest of the night."

Patroclus grins at him and then presses a kiss to blond curls. "Did you bring the oil? Surely you wouldn't have planned a night of solitude and not assumed we'd be fucking."

Achilles leans down and pulls the oil from under the blanket. "I have been thinking about getting you inside me all day, Patroclus. I would not have forgotten such a crucial tool for that." He smiles deviously and lets the oil slip from his fingers and back onto the blanket.

"Good," Patroclus whispers. He pulls off his tunic and toes off his shoes. "Should we go for a swim first? The water is always so warm at night." Even as he says it he's already making his way down the beach, knowing Achilles will follow.

The two splash in the water like children, chasing each other and trying to duck one and other under. They revel in the feel of letting hands roam unchecked as they swim beside each other. Patroclus takes advantage of their solitude and watches Achilles openly and with no shame. He's always watching him, but never as blatantly as he is now. Everyone knows what they are to each other, but it's still frowned upon by some. It's easier for them both if Patroclus does not stare at Achilles like some fool struck by Eros' arrow. 

It has been a long time since they were able to laugh and play like children. Achilles' blonde curls stick to his face when he surfaces from searching for seashells. He gives the prettiest ones to Patroclus and promises to make him a necklace when they get back to the tent. Patroclus thinks its the best birthday present he's ever received. 

As their energy for play leaves them, their hands grow more purposeful in their touches. Achilles mouth finds the skin at the hollow of Patroclus' neck and his hands find muscle in his waist. They taste like the ocean and laughter. Achilles can feel the heartbeat of his philtatos beneath his hands, its calming and arousing all at once.

Patroclus carries them from the water with Achilles legs wrapped around his waist and his mouth connected to his. The seashells are swept from his hand by the god child himself with a promise to find him more later. They fall to the blankets in a pile of grunts and gasps and roaming hands that never, never stop. 

"What do you want?" Achilles traces a finger down Patroclus' jaw and over his mouth. "Whatever you want, it is yours. I am yours."

Patroclus wants to look at him while they fuck. He wants to open Achilles slowly and deliberately. He wants them to scream and gasp and not worry about anyone hearing them. He wants to fuck into Aristos achaion without having to worry that someone will pull him away before they're finished. 

"I want," he says, "to take our time. I feel like it has been so long since I was able to admire all of you this close."

Achilles is a mess by the time Patroclus is done mapping out his body. Every part of him is vibrating, from the skin behind his ears to the toes Patroclus pressed kisses to. He feels more alive under the gaze of dark brown eyes than he ever has when taking a life. This feels more real, more purposeful.

He looks at Patroclus and tries to memorize that look in his eyes. When he dies, he wants this to be the last image he sees in his mind. He wants to remember them like this for always. No amount of killing could ever make him feel like this does. The chanting of his name on the battlefield has never made him feel as worshipped as Patroclus makes him feel right now.

He feels like the god his mother always wanted him to be.

They fuck until dawn starts to set in, but they don't leave. "Not yet," Patroclus whispers to him, "I want to watch the sky come back to life."

Achilles watches Patroclus and wonders how he will ever survive death without him. He thinks of how one day all that will be left of him is his name and his glories in battle. He thinks of all this emotion that is swelling up in him and wonders where it would go. The love he has for Patroclus is too much to be contained in a mortal body, it is only his godly blood that allows him to not explode with what he feels. Achilles wonders if this will be the thing that saves him; if his love for Patroclus will make him so invincible that he can defy the fates themselves.

When the sun rises, all the dark disappears from the world for awhile. When he smiles, it feels like there was never any darkness at all


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys go hunting on Mount Pelion.

"Have the two of you ever taken a life before?" Chiron asks the question in a way that tells them there will be no bragging about their kills.

Patroclus nods once, a stiff and uncomfortable gesture. Achilles gives his verbal assent.

"Good." Chiron hands them the boys they've been practicing with. They're going hunting today for bigger kills. They've learned to set traps for smaller animals, but in order to learn how to store meat they need to actually have extra meat to store.

Their instructor makes them walk through the mountain side instead of riding on his back. He argues that it is good for boys their age to move and build up muscle. Achilles does not mind because he hates sitting still, but he worries for Patroclus who does not have a gods blood running through his veins. Mortals can tire so much more easily than him.

They don't walk long before Chiron instructs them to start tracking their prey. Patroclus is the one who gets a lead first. He's always been more observant than Achilles and the swift-footed boy loves that. He likes that the two of them make such a great pair. It shows that he has chosen well for his therapon.

They come across a herd of goats grazing and are careful to not make any sound that would disturb them. Chiron is quiet in his instructions, reminding them to aim for a kill spot so that death will be quick. He makes them pray to the goddess Artemis for a swift and accurate kill.

Achilles takes the goat down with little effort. He doesn't even pause a moment to align his bow with the goat, just pulls the weapon up and into position and fires. Patroclus watches him with only slight amazement. He had expected no less from the great Achilles. The god born boy, however, is pleased with himself. His eyes shine and his smile takes up nearly half of his face as he looks between the dead goat, Patroclus, and his teacher.

"A clean kill," Chiron praises him. "You will sacrifice some of the meat to Artemis tonight before we feast."

No one mentions that Achilles could have made the kill just as perfectly without the help from the goddess. That is the kind of prideful attitude they sought to avoid. There is no need to anger the gods anymore than necessary. 

"Patroclus," Chiron says in his deep voice, "would you like to try next?"

The brunette looks out to where the goat has fallen to its side, tongue out and eyes still open. Blood seeps out of the arrow wound and stains its brown coat a rust red color. The birds of the forest have stopped signing and its herd has run off, terrified.

"No, Chiron, if it is alright I would rather not. Achilles' kill will be enough for us today." Patroclus cannot look away from the wide, dead eyes of the goat. He keeps seeing the boy he killed. His eyes looked much the same way.

Achilles looks at his friend. "Patroclus, it is not the same." Achilles knows his friend well enough to understand why he has hesitations about this. "This is for food and we will honor the goat by wasting no parts of it."

The bow feels heavy in the young boys hand and he wishes to never have to hold it again. It is too much for him. He does not want to take another life carelessly. There is no need to take another goat right now. 

Chiron looked at Patroclus with wisdom in his dark eyes. "A person's tragedy does not determine their future. You may, at any point in your life, change who you might have been into who you'd like to be." The centaur placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "There is no shame in what you've done in your past if you learned from it."

Achilles watched Patroclus looking out at the space where the goat lay. He had never blamed Patroclus for the death of the child. It was truly an accident and surely not something he should have been exiled for. Not that Achilles would ever argue with the exiling; it brought the two of them together.

"Another day," Patroclus says with finality. They do not argue it further.

Later that night when they're sharing the bed together, Achilles takes advantage of Patroclus' quiet state to ask: "If you could be anyone in the world, who would you want to be?"

Patroclus doesn't turn to look at him like Achilles wants him to. He stares up at the stars, his lips moving as he mouths the names of the constellations. Even though they're less than a hands width apart, Achilles feels as if he is an entire sea away. Patroclus has never been so close and felt so distant.

"Patroclus," Achilles says firmly. He wants an answer to this question. This is something he won't be denied.

The boy across from him stops naming constellations to himself and closes his eyes. "I don't know, Achilles. I've never actually been anyone."

Achilles wants to tell him that's a lie. Patroclus is someone, he's Patroclus. There is no one as magnificent and kind and smart as him. Achilles has heard all the stories of the great Greek heroes and none of them ever compare to the boy beside him. He is just as brave and smart as the rest of them. 

Patroclus is not no one.

"I don't believe you," Achilles says. 

"You don't have to." Patroclus turns over, his back to Achilles, and curls into himself. 

Achilles doesn't like the distance, but he can recognize when Patroclus doesn't want to be bothered. He would do anything to make Patroclus happy, even if that means keeping his distance for awhile. So he turns toward his friend, his therapon, and watches the gentle rise and fall of his body, smooth as the ocean waves.

He watches him for a long time. Green eyes trace down all the curves and edges to the growing body beside him. He admires the way Patroclus' curls fall over the pillow and the way his neck leads into broadening shoulders. Achilles wonders if they stayed like this long enough, if he'd noticed all the changes to Patroclus' body as they happened. Would he see the hair growing longer and his legs thickening with muscle? Would he notice when Patroclus' voice grew deeper and his jaw stronger?

"Patroclus." The name is a slow, careful whisper. Achilles is afraid that if he speaks too loud the whole cave will come crashing down around him. "I like the person you are and, if you could see yourself through my eyes, I think you'd like yourself, too."

Achilles is so in tune with his friend that he notices the slight stiffness to his body before the breathing evens out again. He waits to see if Patroclus will say something. When he doesn't, the godling turns to lay on his back with one arm over his face and another over his stomach.

He thinks that if he could be anyone in the world he would still choose to be himself, son of both man and goddess. Friend and therapon to Patroclus, the greatest person he's ever met.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Achilles comforts Patroclus after a tough day at war.

Achilles plays the lyre for Patroclus on the days the war has been particularly brutal. When men are slaughtered by the hundreds and it feels as if no one has any respect for the dead. They fight over the bodies of the dead and Patroclus spends his days covered in the blood of men he'll never see again. He looks at each one of them and pictures Achilles lying on table in front of him; he knows that picture will become very real one day soon and it is almost too much to bear.

The killing of men has never bothered Achilles. He knows death is inevitable, especially his, and every man who died out there knew that when they came to this war. He does not grieve them. Death is apart of war and it is not something Achilles fears; especially when his death will grant his memory eternal life.

Patroclus is not like him though. He feels the death of each soldier as if it were that of his own family. He grieves all of them equally and can be found at all their funeral burials. He grows sad on days when too many men have died despite his trying to save them. Achilles watches as he scrubs his hands raw trying to get all traces of the blood off. He watches as Patroclus closes himself off, face blank and eyes hard when he walks front he medical tent to their personal one.

These days are the worst part of the war. It feels as if he'll never the have the happy, loving Patroclus back. In a way, the war has ruined all the best parts of the two of them; splattering blood on their best qualities and muffling their ears with the screams of dying men. Achilles will never leave this city, he knows that, but Patroclus will. Patroclus will live on after this war is over and Achilles hopes beyond hope that he will not be forever ruined by the things he's had to see here.

On the days where Patroclus gets the haunted look in his eyes and his skin is pale compared to the bright red of the blood on his body, Achilles takes care of him. They rinse in the ocean together, letting the salt scrub the rust red color of dead men from their bodies. Achilles walks Patroclus back to the tent with a hand between his shoulder blades. He rubs his philtatos down with fresh water so that the ocean's salt does not irritate his skin.

With gentle hands he presses the rose oil Briseis makes into his skin. He lets his hands knead at Patroclus' strong thighs and grips his calves gently, only so that he may feel the curve of muscle resting in his palms. Special care is taken for the good-hearted Patroclus' hands. Achilles presses a kiss to each finger and then his palms before pressing oil into them. 

He brushes the brown hair darkened by sea water and presses his nose close so that he can smell how fresh the strands have become. Patroclus is quiet, but he grips Achilles heel where it is curved around him. 

"Would you like me to play for you?" Achilles asks him gently. He presses his lips to the curve of Patroclus' neck, right where it melds with his strong shoulders.

"Yes," Patroclus' answer is strong and sure, the exact opposite of how he feels.

Achilles lies him down on the bed, stroking his fingers through his hair and pressing a kiss to his mouth. It's soft and slow.

Patroclus' mother's lyre rests on a table in the corner of their tent. Achilles takes great care in keeping it in perfect condition because he knows how much it means to his therapon. It is the only thing he has left of his mothers.

He watches Patroclus as he plays, letting his fingers craft a song that is inspired by the other's beauty. He watches as brown eyes disappear beneath closed eyelids and thick lashes. The once thin and awkward body has turned into an expanse of thick muscle and bronzed skin kissed by the sun. He looks so warm and safe lying on their bed. The sight of him makes Achilles' chest swell so badly it almost hurts. He has so many feelings for Patroclus built up inside him that he feels as if his half-mortal body may burst from them.

The music shifts with Patroclus. With his eyes closed and his breathing relaxed it was soft and slow. Now, as brown eyes meet green the music picks up pace and his fingers dart between strings with careful speed. Patroclus watches him unabashedly, his eyes roaming over Achilles naked body as he plays the lyre. It makes the god child warm and excited. He loves having those eyes on him.

Patroclus sits up on his elbows but Achilles does not stop playing. If anything, the music shifts again as he admires his partner in this new position. Here he can see the muscles in his arms more clearly and admire the way his stomach tightens with each shift in position.

"Achilles." Patroclus' mouth has formed the words hundreds of thousands of times but it still makes his blood move faster in his veins. He feels like he could conquer entire empires on that word alone. 

He stops playing the lyre and returns it to the table. Patroclus meets him half way when he comes back to the bed. His arms reach to pull him down and push their bodies together. It all skin and warmth. It is gold and bronze melting together.

Achilles wishes he could see them like this. He wishes there were mirrors big enough for him to watch himself fucking into Patroclus with this kind of attention and grace. He wants to watch Patroclus take him, wants to see what the two of them look like together like this. He bets they're beautiful.

Sex between the two of them is all hands and mouths and teeth. It's Patroclus pulling him closer by his hair when he bites at the inside of his thigh. It's Achilles pressing bruises into his thighs while he moves on top of him, body one long line of beautiful. They press their mouths together so hard that sometimes they bleed, but Patroclus can't stand letting one exhale of Achilles' breath not be inhaled by him. 

On days like this Achilles holds Patroclus close. He wraps his arms around his waist and helps Patroclus move on top of him. His lips press firmly into his collar bones and he whispers all the things he loves about him.

"Your thighs when you run."

"The way your mouth looks when you say my name."

He strokes Patroclus slowly as he buries himself inside his body. Achilles' grips him and draws out his release because he knows that's what he needs. Patroclus does not need this to be quick like on the days they have no time, but need to feel each other. No, days like this require them to idle, to spend more time mapping out each other's mouths and making tracks on skin with the tips of fingers.

When he goes into battle everyday he likes the way the men chant his name. It's loud and firm and it sounds like a cry of victory. It makes his blood boil in his veins and his chest puff out in pride. His people, his soldiers, see him for what he is: the best of the Greeks.

The battle cry that is his name never sounds better than when it's falling from Patroclus' lips like wine from the bottle. It rushes out of his mouth and hits golden skin like a prayer.

"Achilles."

"Achilles." Patroclus presses it into the skin of the half-god as if it is the only word he knows.

In these moments Achilles can't help but wonder if this is what he was made for. Conquering cities pales in comparison to loving this man. Surely he wasn't made only for destruction and grief. Patroclus is what he was made for. He was made to hold him in his arms and kiss his skin and thread fingers into his hair. There is no other feeling that compares to being with him so intimately. 

There is no life he would not trade to stay like this until the end of his days. Let him be remembered for how fiercely he loved this man. Let him be remembered for how carefully he took care of him in his time of need. Above all, let him be remembered with Patroclus. It means nothing to have your name remembered if the person most important to you is forgotten.

Living forever, even in name, would be a punishment without Patroclus.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Achilles is mean to Briseis and Patroclus gets mad.

Patroclus gets quiet when he's angry. Which is a problem for anyone who isn't as familiar with him as Achilles, or even Briseis, because Patroclus can be rather quiet on a day when he's not angry. Oh, but when he's angry he becomes as silent as a shade. His feet fail to make any sound while he walks and his breath becomes so quiet that Achilles fears he isn't breathing at all. 

The same jaw that Achilles had nipped and licked at only hours before, becomes tough and angular. Patroclus grinds his teeth and the infinitesimal shifts are easy for Achilles to see. The brunette flexes his fingers while he paces, like he's trying to keep his hands from balling into fists. When Patroclus is angry, he looks like he could kill. 

Achilles has seen Patroclus in war. He knows what those large hands are capable of if given the chance. He's seen that jaw open in a war fueled cry of victory when he takes down men twice his size. Achilles has heard how loud those feet can be when they are pressing firmly into the earth before catapulting themselves into hordes of fighting men. He knows the kind of noise that body is capable of. 

"Patroclus," Achilles sighs, "I don't understand why you're so upset."

The man in question falters in his pacing only slightly. "You don't think, Achilles. Not of anything but that abhorrent pride of yours."

A blow so direct makes him bristle. He has a right to be proud; he is the best of the Greeks, only hope for defeating the Trojans. Everyone knows this and loves him for it. Everyone but Patroclus and Briseis. 

"I think of you all the time! Don't blame this on my pride. I apologized to her for what I said. What more would you have me do?"

Achilles hadn't meant to emotionally wound Briseis so deeply. He was still getting used to having her around, still getting used to having to share Patroclus' attention. Since they were children he was always had Patroclus' undivided attention and it's hard to see him giving that attention to someone else. Especially someone like Briseis who is nothing more than a war prize and slave.

So when he'd told her to go fuck one of the other men and leave them be for awhile, he hadn't meant it maliciously. He'd literally been giving her an order because that is what he does. Achilles tells others what to do and they do it. The real problem in this situation is not with Achilles' attitude or actions, its with Patroclus and his inability to see war for what it truly is. 

Briseis is, whether Patroclus wants to accept it or not, Achilles' well won war prize. If he wants to her fuck every man in the camp, then she will. That is not what he had intended her for though. When Patroclus had told him to take her, Achilles did. He'd done it in hopes that Patroclus could train her to keep their living quarters tidy and cook them dinner. He'd hoped she'd be able to help out in the medical unit and, if his beloved wished it, keep Patroclus company while Achilles was gone. He'd hoped that Briseis' presence would allow Achilles' philtatos to join him in the war instead of sitting on the sidelines.

"I would rather you didn't speak to her as if she is something you own. Briseis is a person, Achilles, not a dog." Patroclus would know the difference; he has adopted three dogs since their stay here. "Telling her to go fuck one of the men is not okay. And for the record, you can't make her do anything!"

Achilles flinches slightly at Patroclus' yelling. He has only seen him yell in anger a few times. Once was when it was directed at another soldier who was hurting on of his dogs and the other time was directed at Achilles when he was being particularly abhorrent. Even then, he apologized immediately after raising his voice.

"She is my slave, Patroclus. You seem to have forgotten that I fought and killed for her as my prize. She can and will do anything I want her to."

Patroclus is absolutely fuming now. His already big eyes get impossibly wide and the fingers he was flexing finally fall into fists. "I swear to the gods, Achilles," Patroclus speaks slowly and quietly, "if you cause harm to her person in any way, I will never forgive you. You will live out the rest of your life knowing how disappointed I am in you."

"Patroclus-"

"They call you Aristos Achaion because you are supposed to be better than any of the Greeks. You are supposed to be the ultimate son of the gods, better than any other godchild who has lived. Better than Hercules himself." Patroclus steps closer to Achilles who is sitting on their bed. Achilles watches as he finally closes that terrible distance between them and feels immediately calmer because of it.

"If you harm her or any of those other girls intentionally then you are not the Aristos achaion everyone thinks you to be. You are no better than Agamemnon himself, hurting others to fuel your own glory." Patroclus runs a hand through his hair. "I won't watch you destroy yourself."

Achilles stands and presses in close to Patroclus. His words hurt the godchild in ways that are indescribable. To think of a life where Patroclus thought of him as an equal to Agamemnon is unfathomable. He cannot imagine having his beloved look at him in the same way he looks upon Agamemnon. He will not have that.

"I'm sorry," Achilles says quickly, frantically, "I didn't look at it that way. I didn't realize she meant so much to you. I'm trying to be good, Patroclus, I really am. I'm trying to be the person you want me to be, but I have to uphold a sense of authority over her. She's my slave and if I cannot keep a slave girl in line, then who am I to lead an entire army of Greeks?"

Patroclus shies away from Achilles touch and that hurts him more than anything. "You forget that the war is out there–" he gestures out the door toward the vast open battle fields "–not in here with me or Briseis. You need to leave that kind of thinking in the war fields, Achilles."

The blonde nods and tentatively touches Patroclus' waist, waiting for a rejection that never comes. "I'll apologize again to Briseis. I'll mean it this time, I swear it. I took her for you, Patroclus, and I'll leave it to you to see that she stays in line. I will offer my protection, but you must teach her where her place is."

Achilles cannot meet his brown eyes when he says, "if you would rather have your own space...a place where you and her can stay. I can do that. I can get you living quarters similar to this one. It could be yours. And hers. I wouldn't..."

Patroclus grips Achilles face in between his two bronzed hands and forces him to look him in the eye. "I seek Briseis' friendship and nothing more, Achilles."

"If there were another girl you wished-"

Achilles feels Patroclus' lips on his own and his body releases a tension he did not know it hand been holding. This is what he's needed ever since he walked into the tent an hour before and found Patroclus and Briseis sitting leaned up against the bed, making gestures as they communicated. Achilles had felt filled with jealousy and fear at the sight. He could feel his heart growing cracks and threatening to break as he began to think Patroclus was replacing him with someone else. Someone who was not as destructive and doomed to die.

"I only want you," Patroclus promises against his mouth. "I will only ever want you."

Achilles presses his face into Patroclus' shoulder and breathes him in. "I don't like her in our tent. I don't like the thought of you being that close with anyone else."

There's a sigh from the man he's leaning on and then fingers carding through his still damp hair. "Briseis could never share our level of intimacy, Achilles. Even if I spent the rest of my life with her, she and I could never feel for each other as strongly as I do for you. You must know that by now."

He lets his hands grip Patroclus closer still, lets his body press up against the other's and revels in the closeness. "If I could," Achilles murmurs, "I would never let my skin leave yours. I wish we could be one body. We would be so strong and perfect, Patroclus."

"You are my other half," Patroclus confirms. "But that does not mean you can be hard where I am soft or cruel where I am kind. I will tolerate your flaws, but I will not encourage them."

"I will be better to her," Achilles swears. He lifts his head to kiss Patroclus again. "I want you in me. You feel so far away when you're angry with me."

Patroclus smiles and thumbs over Achilles mouth. "You talk like I'm angry with you often, but I feel the same way. Should I take you now or tonight when everyone is resting?"

Achilles tugs at Patroclus clothing, which just so happens to one of Achilles' original clothing items. It makes a deep longing burn within in the pit of his stomach to realize Patroclus is in his clothes. Even in his anger he was never that far away.

"Now," Achilles demands, "I want everyone to hear that you're mine." He especially wants Briseis to hear it. He does not like the way she looks at Patroclus when she believes no one is watching her. Achilles does not blame her for wanting Patroclus, he is a hard man to resist.

There is nothing slow or soft about their fucking. Achilles wants to be claimed and reassured of Patroclus' desires for him. He wants to show his lover how much he adores him and how only he can make him feel this way.

Achilles seats himself in Patroclus lap after making the other watch as he prepped himself. He squeezes Patroclus' thighs as he sinks down and revels in the way those muscles feel underneath his hands. He watches Patroclus' face so that he may see as his expressions turn from eager to pleased.

Patroclus watches him, too. He watches himself disappear inside Achilles' body and he watches Achilles' mouth fall open at the feel of it. He grips the other man's thighs and pushes up the final bit a bit harder than necessary. He wants to hear Achilles today, wants to make him groan out obscenities and shout Patroclus' name so loud that no one will ever have to question what they were doing.

The godling raises himself up and falls back down onto Patroclus' lap, eliciting a grunt from his lover. "I want to be the only one to ever see you like this," Achilles tells him. He presses a hand to the sternum of the man beneath him and raises himself up then down once more. "I want to be the only one to ever touch your naked body."

The brunette grips one hand on Achilles' waist and sits up to press the other into the small of his back. "You will be. There will be no one else after you."

He rolls his hips and lets out a low moan at the feeling. Patroclus pants into his mouth and presses impossibly closer. Achilles still feels as if he isn't close enough, as if he will never be close enough. They could be one person and it still wouldn't be enough for him. He will never feel as if he has enough of Patroclus. He will always want more.

"And now? Would you have anyone while I am still here?" He thinks of Deidamia and Patroculs' secret night with her. He thinks of how all the slave girls are sent to him first and how they all continue to look at him when he walks by. Achilles knows Patroclus could have any of them, all of them if he wanted. 

"No," Patroclus grunts, "you are enough. More than I can handle, really. Please, Achilles, move."

There is little conversation after that. Achilles continues to move on top of Patroclus until he is flipped onto the bed and Patroclus begins to push into him. Achilles can see the concentration in his face as his beloved continues to bring him to the edge and pull him away again. He does it time after time until Achilles is finally begging, his pleads a long line of, "Patroclus, Patroclus, Patroclus."

Achilles is boneless and exhausted when Patroclus finally pulls out. There is an ache in his legs and his throat feels dry, but he feels freed. His skin is so sensitive that when Patroclus licks the mess he made on his stomach, it is almost too much for him to bear. The emotions are swelling inside of him and bringing tears to his eyes. 

Patroclus nips at his skin, reddening the golden color until it will bruise. "You do not see the way they look at you," the brunette whispers into his skin. "The women would give anything to be taken by the son of a god. The men worship the ground you walk on."

The lion-hearted Achilles can only watch open mouthed as Patroclus presses a kiss to the inside of his knee. "You do hear how they speak of you. The women talk of what they would do to you." Patroclus puts Achilles foot against his chest and kneads at the muscle in the man's calves. "The men talk of what they could do for you. Some speak of how they could take my place as therapon, others only wish to take my place as your lover."

He can feel Patroclus' heart beating in his chest where his foot is resting. Patroclus lifts the leg to press a kiss to his ankle and the gesture has his blood moving swiftly in his veins. 

Achilles watches Patroclus as he continues to kiss and suck his way back toward him. "I do not see them," Achilles admits in a breathless tone, "I only see you."

Patroclus smiles up at him and presses his thumb into Achilles' still lose hole. "I know, because my eyes always fall to you. I see the way you watch me."

Slim fingers grip the bedding as his cock makes an effort to rise once more. Achilles is watching him right now. He's watch the patch of hair behind his ear that never lies flat and he's watching the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the slow thickening of his cock that shows Patroclus is enjoying this as much as he. Green eyes cannot help but always watch him.

"Do you think you could come again? Just on my fingers?" Patroclus rubs his thumb over Achilles hip bone. "Or do you need my mouth?"

The half-god cries out at the thought. "I want your mouth," Achilles nearly begs it. 

Patroclus hums and licks his lips at he watches him fingers moving in and out of Achilles. "And where would you like my mouth?" He curls his fingers. "Would you like my tongue buried in beside my fingers?" He grips his other hand on Achilles half hard dick. "Or would you like here?"

"Anywhere, anywhere," Achilles breathes. "Patroclus."

It's so much, Patroclus has always been so much. He isn't sure how he got so lucky to have him. This couldn't have been something the fates designed, for they never design futures quite as perfect as this is. No, this bond between the two of them is a mortal blessing. This is something beyond the fates and the gods. It's an entirely human connection that Achilles does not have a word for. Patroclus is more than his therapon or his lover, he is everything. 

After so many years together Patroclus knows what Achilles wants, even if he doesn't. Achilles watches as those pink lips wrap around him at the same time a third finger is added into his body. It's all he can do to just grip Patroclus' hair and just hold on for dear life. He feels as if he will implode in on himself; the only thing reassuring him of his survival after this moment is the knowledge that Hector still lives, so it cannot be his own time to go. When he dies, he hopes it is like this: Patroclus' fingers buried deep inside him and mouth on his skin while Achilles pants out his name.

It doesn't take long for Achilles to reach his peak and spill into Patroclus' waiting mouth. His body was already sensitive and tired from his previous orgasm. This one was hardly any work at all to procure. 

Through tired green eyes he watches as Patroclus strokes himself once more. Brown eyes roam down Achilles' body as he grunts out his name. It's all the blonde can do to watch and use his foot to stroke down Patroclus' calve. "You look so beautiful," Achilles tells him. It's the most beautiful sight he's seen since the last time he watch Patroclus come while looking at him.

His body feels tired and heavy as he lays in bed next to his beloved. He does not want to nap, but he does not want to move either. Achilles would like to just lay there and listen to Patroclus breathing evenly next to him, feel their arms pressed to each other and ankles intertwined.

He remembers the first time he and Patroclus had sex. It was after his birthday, in the cave on Mount Pelion. He remembers thinking that nothing could ever outshine the way he felt in that moment with Patroclus. Achilles was convinced that there was no way any of his future acts would ever been as glorious as that had been. The two of them slowly jerking each other to completion. It had been the best day of his life up until that point.

And then he'd felt what it was like to actually be inside Patroclus, and Patroclus inside him as he tasted his own name inside the mouth of his beloved. After that he was convinced nothing would ever top that first time. He was wrong, both times. It seemed like every time with Patroclus was the best time. Whether it be slowly grinding against each other while still half asleep in the mornings before battle or the heated and frantic claiming type of sex they had when there was a close call for Patroclus in a fight. It all outshone the last time. 

Everything just kept getting better.

"I don't know how we got here," Patroclus mumbles next to him.

"Which here? The war or the sex?"

Achilles can see Patroclus smiling from the corner of his eye. "I meant the sex. I was supposed to be mad at you."

It takes some effort, but Achilles turns to his side so he can put his leg over Patroclus' waist and rest his head on his shoulder. "We're not good at staying angry at each other."

"No," Patroclus agrees, "but we're good at talking."

"And sex. You're very good at sex." He's only had one other person in his life, so its not like he's exactly an expert at the topic, but he can't imagine it being better with anyone else.

Fingers pull through his blonde hair and Achilles feels his eyes growing heavy at the touch. 

"You'll try to be nicer to her, right?"

"Yes, for you."

"I don't want the two of you to hate each other."

Achilles lets his fingers curl around Patroclus' shoulder and his thumb rest at the hollow of his throat. He tucks his head into his arm and tries to bury himself into the bronze skin beneath him. "There is nothing to worry about. She's yours to care for and teach. As long as she knows her place, we won't have an issue."

"Thank you," Patroclus murmurs. Achilles hugs him closer and tries to think of something Patroclus could ask him that he would actually say no to. Nothing comes to mind. He thinks he'd do anything for this man.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patroclus asks Achilles why he loves him.

Patroclus watches the way his fingers dance across the lyre. He sees the swift movement of those small, strong hands and how gentle they are with the instrument. He wonders how something so beautiful and kind and good could ever be destined to kill and maim and murder. He wonders how this man, Achilles Pelides, could ever look at Patroclus, who was far from being ugly but still not nearly as beautiful, and feel for him in ways that shook the earth to its core.

"Why do you love me?"

Achilles stops playing the lyre immediately, the song he was composing drifts off into the air and is lost forever. There are few things that can cause the great Achilles to stop playing his lyre when he is as intensely focused as he just was. He is a great multi-tasker, able to play and converse at the same time, or if the music is forming too fast in his head for other thoughts to take place, he has no qualms with ignoring everyone else around him so he can lose himself in the music.

Patroclus, however, is always the exception to all of Achilles' rules and idiosyncrasies. "Why do I love you? Patroclus, why would you ask such a thing?" He sounds devastated and betrayed that the question had even crossed Patroclus' mind.

The younger boy shrugs, looks out at the water because he cannot stand to meet Achilles' eyes right now. He knows he's angered him, made him sad even, and it upsets him to think that he is the reason the swift footed prince is now upset. It was not his intention to upset Achilles'. Being around the godly prince has made his tongue looser and his inquisitive nature even stronger. Patroclus no longer has to fear punishment or ridicule for his questions; Achilles welcomes them, encourages them even.

"Please, Achilles," Patroclus begs, "just answer the question. I–I need to know."

"It upsets me that you would ask such an insane question, Patroclus. Have I been so terrible to you that you have been lead to doubt my love for you? Have I neglected you in some way or hurt you?" Achilles sets the lyre on the ground so that he may fall in between Patroclus' legs. "I do not understand your question. Why do I love you? Patroclus, why would I not?"

Brown eyes meet green and the two boys–more like men now– stare at each other for longer than would be considered decent if there was company around. 

Patroclus swallows before he answers. "There are just so many others that vie for your attention. I don't understand how, out of all the people you have met, you can look at me and be happy with what you see. I, son of Menoitious, am nothing compared to you, Pelides. I am a murder who was disowned by his own father. The son of a simple woman. I possess no great talents and can offer you no aid in your path to greatness."

Achilles falls back onto his heels so he is not in Patroclus' face as much anymore. There is an anger in his green eyes, a godlike anger that his lover could never understand. Why does he love him? 

"We will have this conversation only once and after this I never wish to hear you question my devotion to you. I am insulted that you would do so. If I were capable of such emotion with you, Patroclus, I would be infuriated. With anyone else I would have raged at the sound of those words being voiced."

"Then forget I said anything." Patroclus stands and begins to make his way back to the cave that has become their home. Achilles would not answer and that was answer enough for him.

He is not fast enough to escape Achilles' grasp, nor does he try. Patroclus has learned that when Achilles wants something, he will get it and there is no point in fighting off his wants. Until now Patroclus has never wanted to refuse Achilles of something that he wanted, but before now Achilles' wants were almost always in line with Patroclus' own wants.

"Do not run from me, therapon." Achilles requests. "Allow me to answer your question so that I may never have to hear you inquire as to the reasoning behind my feelings for you."

Patroclus stays where he is, but does not turn to face Achilles. 

The god child's hand goes gentle, almost a caress on the mortal's arm.

Achilles presses his lips to Patroclus' brown curls. He can feel the dampness on them from their dip in the stream earlier. He smells of their soap and the medicines he and Chiron make when Achilles' is practicing with the bow and arrow. 

"You captivate me, Patroclus, and leave me chasing after you always. You are my everything and without you I have nothing." Achilles turns Patroclus and nods his face gently. "There are not words to describe the ways and reasons I adore you, dear Patroclus. I can only tell you that I do not lie when I say you are the most important person in my life. I would die before seeing you hurt. I would fight the gods before allowing you to be taken from me."

He traces his finger under one of the brown haired man's big eyes. "Do you understand what I'm saying, Patroclus?"

"You need me." Even as he says them, Patroclus knows they are not true. Achilles does not need anyone; he wants, but he does not need.

"No, if I needed you then I could never truly love you. What we have, this companionship, is mutual. I could live without you, but I do not care to. I choose you because you make me better. I choose you because when I think of the person I would be without you, I believe it pales in comparison to the person I am with you." 

Achilles drops his hands to his sides. "I will be famous one day, Patroclus. People will speak my name for years to come. When they think of me I want them to also think of you."

Patroclus looks to his feet before looking back into the green eyes of the best do the Greeks. "I often fear that your love for your pride outweighs your love for us. I do not want you to be remembered for your hubris. Thousands of years from now I wish your name to be synonyms with bravery and strength, but never for gluttonous pride."

Achilles kisses him quickly. "You are the only one who worries of my future reputation."

The brown haired boy touches him for the first time since Achilles started his speech. He places one hand on the god child's chest, over the golden hair that cascades over his breast in waves. "I worry for you always. You must not lose yourself in this conquest towards infamy."

"Do you still wonder why I love you? I fear I have not fully answered your question."

Patroclus shakes his head. "Fear not, Achilles, my previous doubts have been washed away by your pretty words. I wish now to only show you how much I love you in return."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Achilles thinks about Patroclus.

Achilles has been destined for greatness even before he was born. It was prophesied that he would be more powerful than his father. He would destroy cities and win wars.

They told him from a young age that he would be the strongest and best warrior Greece has ever seen. As he grew older it changed from being the best of the Greeks, Aristos Achaion, to the best of all men. The words were melted into Achilles bones, carved into the ridges of his spine so he may never forget what he was destined to be. As he grew, so did his reputation and the expectations set for him.

At sixteen it was not enough to be the fastest or the strongest of his peers. He was made to lead armies and ships. Strategy became his most talked about topic and he began sparring out of necessity rather than fun. Twenty showed him the cruelties of war. He saw how men changed in the face of death; how they begged and pleaded or screamed and raged at him before he plunged his spear into their skulls.

Achilles murdered and pillaged. He ruined families and set fires to villages because he could. It didn't even frighten him the first time he killed someone. He felt exhilarated at the idea of taking a life, at seeing how he was, for the briefest of moments, the one who made the ultimate decision for someone's fate. This is what the gods must feel like, he thought after that first kill. 

The gods gave and took life like it was a game to them. On the battlefield, Achilles got to have a taste of that power his mother liked to tell him about. She wants him to be a god, like her, and he must gain fame for that to happen. He must murder and destroy all who try to keep him from his goal. Everyone except Hector; he must never lay a hand on the most favored son of Priam. 

The killing is easy to him. Mortal bodies are so fragile with their leaf thin skin and muscles rendered tender by strenuous war. Most days his spear slips so easily through the sinew of bodies that he can imagining he and Patroclus are spearing fish on Mount Pelion once more. He can pretend the blood is nothing more than the river at sunset and the gasping sounds of the dying men are Patroclus fighting for air between laughs. It's all so, so easy for him. Easier than breathing.

There is comfort in knowing that while he is fighting Patroclus sleeps safe and secure in their tent. He waits for Achilles, body and soul, to return at the end of the long day. He listens while Achilles describes each kill in detail, from the sound the spear makes entering the body to the way the blood gushes out when the weapon is removed. His therapon listens as Achilles described the way he took on half a dozen men without ever even coming close to be scratched by one of their swords. 

Some days, when the fighting is bad and the men are weak, Achilles will come home to an empty tent. He will strip of his armor alone and wash hastily. His fingers will grab for the first clean tunic he finds, there is no discerning between his and Patroclus' clothing anymore, and he will dash from the tent in a flurry of limbs. He always knows where to look on days like these.

Patroclus does not fight in the war. The other soldiers think it is because he is weak and unskilled with a sword, but the gods know it is because he is dying to buy more time with Achilles. Patroclus' skill with a sword would easily rival Hector's if he chose to equip the weapon. Luckily for the Trojans, his weapon of choice is often a scalpel or needle and thread. He is not a killer, but a healer.

If Achilles is the physical ideal of all Greeks, then Patroclus is the mental counterpart. Achilles is fast and strong and skilled with every weapon ever crafted. He can fight men twice his size and lead armies to victory while having to previous battle experience. Patroclus is smart and kind and compassionate. He understands medicines and feelings. The good hearted man can wield a sword better then most, but chooses instead to focus his talents into repairing the broken men who fight for their king. 

Years spent in companionship with each other have left them unable to ever not be aware of the other's presence. Achilles is not even completely in the medical enclosure and already he has locked eyes with Patroclus, who is covered in the blood of men. The blood was drawn by the ruthless army of the Trojans. They were particularly harsh in their slaughtering today. 

Patroclus cannot amuse Achilles st this moment, though he wishes he could. Instead, Achilles finds a spot in the corner of the tent where he can watch Patroclus as he works. He watches his beloved's nimble fingers work to close wounds caused by arrows. He sees those gentle hands sweep salves into cuts and burns. There have never been knots tied so quickly thsn those done by Patroclus. 

Achilles watches how his thighs bunch as he tried to move men bigger than him. He watches the flex of Patroclus' calves when he reaches for salves on shelves high above him. His body is a work of art Achilles cannot stop marveling in fear it may one day disappear. 

It is only when the last major injury has been tended to that Patroclus makes his way to Achilles. There is the blood of other men stained on his skin and a dampness to his hair from all the lifting he has done. Still, his brown eyes shine and his nose crinkles as he smiles st the sight of Achilles. There is nothing but adoration and happiness in his features despite all the trauma he has just seen. 

"Achilles," Patroclus murmurs, "I hope you're not injured? The men came back looking half dead today. Hector and his army must have been ruthless."

The godchild stands and sweeps the back of his knuckles against Patroclus' arm. He wants to do more. He wants to pull his beloved in close and kiss him until the sounds of dying men leave his ears and all thoughts of the prophecy on his life are gone. He wishes to lose himself in Patroclus right in front of everyone, but that is not practical.

"There isn't a scratch on me. The Trojans cannot touch me and I have no need to seek out Hector's deadly sword." He glances back at the wounded. "Can you leave now? I wish to tell you about my kills and I have been waiting so patiently because I knew it would please you."

Patroclus looks back at the men in the tent who are spread out everywhere. Achilles watches the way his neck extends, extenuating the bulge in his throat that the blonde loves to bite at. "Yes, I have done all that I can today. I am eager to eat. You can talk while I cook."

The two make their way back to their camp and Achilles gets to watch as soldiers smile at his therapon and pat him on the shoulder as they pass. Patroclus can greet them all by name and injury, asking them all about the progress of their healing. Achilles can only watch as his beloved communicates so easily with them all. They are all familiar to him, but he could not place names to faces if he tried.

Even the stray dogs that run around are quick to greet Patroclus. They lick his fingers and jump on him with their paws at his chest. They nip playfully at his clothing and shove their faces into their hands so that Patroclus can stroke their matted fur. Everything is drawn to him, people and animal alike.

The men call out to Achilles in greeting, but he does not acknowledge them. His eyes are too focused on Patroclus and the way the man seems to glow with excitement and grace. If Achilles had not spent his entire life with this man he would think that Patroclus' appearance was the doing of the gods. But it is not. The brunette needs no help from the gods to appear as lovely and strong as he does. The shine in his hair, the flex of his muscles, and the confidence he exudes are all Patroclus alone. No god could ever make him look like this.

Patroclus is loved by all the men and slaves. It is his good heart that makes them all flock to him. Achilles looks at them all vying for his beloved's attention and smiles.

I am destined for greatness, Achilles thinks as he watches Patroclus, and my greatness is you.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Achilles thinks about his death.

Sometimes Achilles looks at Patroclus and feels like he wants to cry. Not the cries of little boys who have skinned their knees or who have been forced to attend their lessons instead of playing in the warm sun. No. The half-god looks at his therapon and wishes to howl with grief the way mother a mother wolf howls when her child is ripped from her nest. He wants to scream with the rage that burns inside of him and tear all the cities of the world to the ground. He wishes he could kill every king and prince that walks this earth and rule over all it's inhabitants.

Achilles thinks of how, one day, he will have to live without Patroclus. One day his beloved will go to war and never come back. One day he, himself, will go to war and never come back. To think of even a moment of life where Patroclus does not exist is unbearable. He does not wish to separated from his other half, even in death. 

He knows what Patroclus plans to do after he dies; he knows that Patroclus will find a way to end his own life even if it means he does not end up with Achilles in Elysium. The gods do not grant eternal bliss to those who take their own lives; they do not like it when mortals beat them at their own game. If Patroclus takes his own life after Achilles' death, then they will never be together again.

If he could rip off the heads of every man, sacrifice every bull in Greece, and kill the first borns of all fathers in exchange for Patroclus' life, he would. Achilles would reroute the Aegean and tear through the gates of Sparta if it meant he could save his love from death. There is no task too great or person too strong that Achilles would not conquer in exchange for Patroclus' soul.

"Achilles." Gods. The way he says his name is enough to make his knees buckle. Achilles would sacrifice to Patroclus himself if he did not fear the wrath of Zeus for such a blasphemous act. He does not worship the sun god or the war god or any other of those selfish gods that play with their mortal toys.

No, Achilles worships only his beloved. He worships him at night with fingers that touch gently on mortal skin. He worships him during the day, juggling figs and doing flips out of trees so that he may always have Patroclus' eyes on him. Even in his dreams he worships him; there is not a moment of his life where Patroclus is not present. 

"Patroclus." Achilles thinks the name should always be spoken slowly. You cannot truly understand the man until you have felt every syllable on your tongue and tasted every memory it brings. He likes to watch the way his beloved's eyes widen when he says the name. Patroclus' entire body relaxes at the sound of his voice caressing the word.

The brunette tosses a piece of fig into the air and Achilles catches it with his teeth. Patroclus had once tried to do the same thing. It hit him in the eye and Achilles fussed over him before Patroclus shoved him off in embarrassment and muttered something about the unfairness his godly reflexes give him. Achilles loved him even more after that.

"Machaon wishes to teach me about treating poisoned wounds today." Patroclus looks like a god himself to Achilles. Wide childlike eyes and the lips of Aphrodite herself. "I know you are not interested in the medicines as I am." Achilles likes to watch Patroclus working. He loves how the look he gives a new medical task is the same look he gives Achilles at night when his fingers are inside his body and his other hand is is holding him close. "I thought you could go hunting today. You were talking of how you wanted rabbit the other night."

Patroclus' fingers are turning the figs over and over. Achilles watches them and thinks of how strong they are. He's seen those fingers perform delicate tasks like sewing sutures and stroking his horse, but he's also seen those fingers twist the necks of rabbits until they break and release an arrow into a Trojan soldier.

"It would benefit us both if we were both to learn about poison today." Achilles replies and busies himself with juggling the figs so he does not bury his fingers in that curly brown hair. "What good is the knowledge of poison to you if you are the one who has been poisoned?"

"Of the two of us, I am the one least likely to suffer such a fate. The gods have given you the enemies, not me."

It is true. Patroclus has never, intentionally, harmed anyone. He is good and pure. Achilles is the one who is destined to kill and rage against the Trojans. Patroclus is destined to watch.

"Nonetheless," Achilles continues, "I wish to take part in this lesson today. We can hunt together after."

In truth, Achilles cannot bear to be apart from Patroclus at this moment. He can see the other's mortality so much more clearly today. It seems that the fragility of his life is more potent to him now than it ever has been.

"What have you been thinking about, Achilles? You've been very subdued this morning." Patroclus moves closer to Achilles in the tent so that he may snatch a fig from the air in which it is being juggled.

The quick reflexes of his beloved make Achilles smile. He is no longer the unsure and shy boy he was when they first met. "I am thinking of you, Patroclus, and the time we have left together."

"Ah. The fates have destined us to die, but you have yet to kill Hector and refuse to partake in this war." The way he said the last part showed his frustration with Achilles. He was not happy that the godchild was so willing to let others die for his own hubris.

"It could be argued that if I do not fight, Hector cannot die. If Hector does not die then neither should I or you. I will always be here to protect you."

"You would let others fall in your place rather than sacrifice your pride, Achilles. There is no honor in that or in fighting fate."

"What if I wish to make my own fate, Patroclus?" Achilles shifts his leg so that he may press his foot against his beloved's. He does not like arguing with him. "You do not understand."

Patroclus thinks of all the men dying out there because of Achilles' pride. He thinks of how at home their families will shed tears. He thinks of how if he could gather all the tears shed by the families of men Achilles has killed he could drown the world.

"I understand enough, aristos achaion," he spits the word, "you have been blinded by your pride."

Achilles frowns and lets the figs drop, not caring if they bruise. He rests his hands on his thighs. "Patroclus, you are angry with me. I only wish to keep us together longer. I do not wish to fight a war for someone as selfish as Agamemnon. It is not my fault that he could not hold onto his wife."

He watches the fight seep out of Patroclus in waves. With each breath the brown haired man takes, more and more anger leaves his body. "An eternity with you would not be enough," Patroclus confesses, "but that does not mean we are justified in our present actions."

The warrior crawls into the other's lap, grips the face of his lover in his hands and presses their foreheads together. "What should you have me do, Patroclus?" He would do anything for him. 

Patroclus grips his waist and bunches the tunic in his hands. "I would never ask that you do something you would not want. I respect you too much for that. All I ask is that you be mindful of your actions. The gods will not be happy that you are trying to escape your fate."

Achilles grins. "Did you, not so long ago, try to outwit the fates yourself when telling me not to kill Hector?"

"I was a boy then, unaware as to the cruelties of war." Achilles has never felt his hands so surely before. It's as if Patroclus is the one protecting him for once, holding him together when he feels most like he may fall apart.

"Do you remember when you asked me why I love you?" Achilles lips brush against Patroclus' as he speaks. It steals the breath from both of them. Patroclus' answer is a whisper spoken with the breath he has inhaled from the other. 

"Do you ever wonder now if I love you?" No.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Tumblr at grief-of-achilles(dot)tumblr(dog)com


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